


Spellbound

by quaint_camera



Series: Merlin Summer Pornathon 2013 [9]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, Ambiguous Relationships, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Character Study, M/M, Masturbation, Morning Routines, Morning Wood, Nudity, Summer Pornathon, Summer Pornathon 2013, Watching Someone Sleep
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-11
Updated: 2013-08-11
Packaged: 2017-12-23 04:06:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 747
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/921791
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quaint_camera/pseuds/quaint_camera
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gods, even before Arthur lacked the inner character to match his outer beauty, Merlin found him beautiful, but now, sprawled carelessly in his sleep, he's breathtaking.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Spellbound

**Author's Note:**

> For the 2013 Summer Pornathon, Challenge #6: Light and/or Dark. I chose the "light" option.

Merlin blinks awake long before any of the other servants. In the dim candlelight, he sits up and wriggles out of his white sleep tunic, donning a colorful one in its place, then moves on to fumbling with the fastenings on his boots and his neckerchief, his fingers sleep-clumsy.

Once dressed, he inches down the creaky stairs, careful not to disturb Gaius snoring on his cot. He splashes his face with cool water from the basin, washing crust from his eyes and dirt from his skin. Breakfast is grab-and-go; he snatches up a large red apple he was lucky enough to acquire from the kitchens yesterday, tugs on his jacket, and slips out of the workshop.

The castle corridors are long and empty, but familiar, and as the rest of Merlin's day is usually quite busy, he enjoys having the stroll and breakfast to himself; gives him time to wake up. He ambles along, occasionally taking a bite out of his apple, until he finds himself at the door to Arthur's chambers. He doesn't knock, because the noise would wake Arthur; he just lets himself in, shutting the door soundlessly and leaning back against it. He sinks his teeth into the apple for another sweet bite and nearly chokes on it.

The privacy curtains surrounding Arthur's bed are all open, which he expected because Arthur only shuts them when he's genuinely miffed at Merlin and he hasn't done anything  _too_  annoying recently, but Arthur's kicked off all the bedsheets as well, or tried to—the bloodred silk is tangled and twisted around one of his ankles. He's naked, lying prone on his stomach and turned away towards the window so only the back of his very blonde head is visible.

Gods, even before Arthur lacked the inner character to match his outer beauty, Merlin found him beautiful, but now, sprawled carelessly in his sleep, he's breathtaking. Apple forgotten, Merlin watches the morning sun spill over Arthur's tanned skin, illuminating the fine golden hairs that seem to have been dusted over his whole body. His eyes linger on Arthur's form with a leisure he's rarely allowed, tracing the firm curve of buttocks, the bend of a knee, even admiring the soles of his oversized feet. Why should Arthur wear a paltry band of metal when the gods provided him a crown of golden hair that shines in the sun?

And what would Arthur say if he could hear these thoughts?  _Writing poetry again, are we, Mer-lin?_  he'd smirk. But he'd be just the tiniest bit pleased. It was all there to see in his eyes, if only you cared to look, and Merlin always looks, long and hard. He's quite possibly the only person in Arthur's life who isn't afraid of his blustering.

Smiling, Merlin collects the silver platter from the dining table and walks it downstairs to fetch Arthur's breakfast. As always, the kitchens are torture, steaming hot and wafting with delicious scents, but thankfully Arthur's dishes have already been prepared and laid out, just waiting for him to pick up. "Thanks!" Merlin calls out cheerily, but the head cook is buried in pots and barely spares him a glance, grumbling something incomprehensible.

By the time he arrives back at Arthur's chambers, he's broken a light sweat, but nothing's spilled, so he sets the platter down carefully, beaming a little. He's hankering to sneak a slice of bacon, but he resists; if Arthur's in a good mood, he'll probably let him have the leftovers.

And Arthur's awake now, must be—his face is planted firmly in the pillow, but his toes are curling, buttocks clenching, muscles flexing... oh. Merlin's face flames as he recognizes that slow, instinctive rolling of hips. Arthur's humping his morning wood against the bed, so intent on finding release he apparently didn't hear Merlin enter.

Merlin should say something, anything, to alert Arthur to his presence but he doesn't, and he can't look away, his heart racing faster with every soft, stifled cry Arthur makes, the occasional impatient swiveling of his hips, the way his hands scrabble at the sheets for greater purchase.

Even in this, Arthur is restrained; the only sound that escapes him is a quiet, muffled groan as he cums, hips jerking rhythmically until he's spent and slumped. His back rises and falls rapidly as he tries to catch his breath; Merlin, for his part, tries very hard not to breathe at all, so as not to break the spell.


End file.
